


Keeping It on the Low

by dontcallmebree



Series: Do The Things You Never Showed Nobody [4]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Mob, Bearded Steve Rogers, Captain America Steve Rogers/Modern Bucky Barnes, Domestic Fluff, M/M, Mob Boss Steve Rogers, Modern Bucky Barnes, Personal Assistant Bucky Barnes, Shrunklyclunks, Steve Rogers is Not a Virgin, sorta Slice of Life or timestamps
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-16
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:40:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 15,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28101048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dontcallmebree/pseuds/dontcallmebree
Summary: Bucky Barnes is the man he looks to for the right thing to do when at a crossroads.Maybe he isn’t Steve’s moral compass, per se, but he’ssomething.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Series: Do The Things You Never Showed Nobody [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2022916
Comments: 27
Kudos: 168





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> let’s explore some stuff.
> 
> Beta Meraki_Moli makes her mark yet again.

Huh. A nondisclosure agreement. 

When the Avengers were told to expect a visit from the King of Wakanda, Steve had absolutely no clue what to expect. They’ve never been deployed to the country, of course, and he can’t think of a single reason why King T’Challa might want an audience with them.

The NDA, though, means _something_ is happening. Are they going to share confidential information about their intelligence and technology? That sounds implausible.

A part of him has the urge to laugh as he signs on the dotted line. Where was this surprisingly ordinary piece of document when Steve first started dealing with Shuri? He supposes their business is based a lot on honor. The irony. 

Once the papers are collected and handed over to the charge by the entrance, they’re told to wait. Instead of inviting the team over to the embassy, the king has decided to come to the tower himself, and so Pepper has set them up in one of the smaller halls with couches and tables. There’s even a breakfast spread, which everyone’s idly nibbling on through growing anxiety.

Tony taps his fingers against one of the tables repeatedly, until Pepper stops him by clasping his hand in her own. “Look, I’m almost completely sure we didn’t piss off some king from halfway across the world,” he finally bellows out. “Why the hell does he want to talk to us? Monarchies make me nervous. Are we gonna get beheaded? Is that a thing kings still do?”

“ _Tony_ ,” Pepper warns, gently pushing him down onto one of the armchairs. 

No one else is as fidgety, but he can see that they’re visibly tense. Even Steve has to admit this meeting is making him nervous. Bucky’s presence at his side is only taking the edge off the tiniest bit. “What?” Tony protests. “I’m pretty sure we just signed our lives away. Seriously, nothing good comes of NDAs.”

“You would know,” Pepper mutters, which causes everyone else to titter and relax a fraction. Steve’s never been more grateful for her leading role on their team. While she refrains from joining them in the field despite her own abilities, she’s one of the only reasons the Avengers are as much of a well oiled machine as it is. 

Clint stands up from his perch on the arm of a couch by Scott and Natasha, and plops down onto a seat to Bucky’s right. “Maybe he needs our help with something,” he pulls at the collar of his colorful shirt like it’s actively strangling him. Everyone hums in agreement, as it’s the only reasonable conclusion they can come to. Steve has his doubts. Wakanda is more than capable of handling anything that comes for them. 

Bruce pockets his glasses, eyebrows wrinkled. “I’ve done a number of humanitarian trips and they’ve never opened their borders for aid. I can’t imagine they’d start now.” Well, at least _one_ person here knows what they’re dealing with. 

“Should we be worried?” Bucky whispers as he leans closer.

Steve puts on a comforting smile. “I don’t think s-”

A woman in bright red armor carrying a spear walks through the doors, and announces, “King T’Challa of Wakanda, and Princess Shuri.” As she moves aside, the man himself enters, surrounded by similarly armed women in what Steve now sees is the uniform. They walk in perfect synchrony, moving together as one unit as they spread out and take position around the royal family. 

Steve sees Okoye at the king’s left next to Shuri, and he spots Ayo and Xoliswa not too far behind in the formation. He’s never seen their detail in full regalia and with as many present, and what a sight it is. Shuri usually only has three or so people with her when they meet. 

His awe is clearly reflected in his teammates, all of them now standing to greet their guest. “It’s an honor to meet you, Your Majesty,” Pepper offers a hand. 

King T’Challa’s face is kind as he shakes her hand. “Thank you for accommodating us.” While he and Shuri are clearly in formal clothes, neither of their demeanor suggests the rigidity of a visiting royal family, and the sight deflates some of the tension in the air. Something about how King T’Challa presents himself allows them to let their guards down, treating this meeting just like any other. Steve wonders if he’s ever been able to as deftly and subtly influence a room this quickly. 

Pepper introduces the team, King T’Challa shaking each of their hands. Everyone seems to have mellowed out now that the anticipation is mostly over, and despite the higher than average number of spears in the room, none look to be pointing at any of them.

King T’Challa’s hand is rough and calloused when their palms meet, his voice warm when he says, “Captain.” 

“ _It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, King T’Challa,_ ” Steve tells him in isiXhosa. Eyebrows fly up in surprise at his near fluency, but the king just smiles agreeably. Steve can only speak the language conversationally, having picked it up from years of knowing Shuri and learning on his own, but it’s apparently acceptable enough for the king of Wakanda.

“Likewise.” Steve is grateful his greeting didn’t prompt a lengthy conversation in the South African language. He’s not sure he’d be able to hold up his end of it very well. King T’Challa turns his attention to Bucky, and extends his hand as well. “You must be the partner.”

Steve almost lets himself glare at Shuri, who he can see is pursing her lips to keep from smiling. She’s successfully maintaining her mask, but her eyes are clearly twinkling in amusement. Bucky fumbles to return the handshake but manages an, “Uh, yeah- Yes.”

King T’Challa breaks out into a full blown grin. “My sister keeps me updated on gossip from all across the world.” 

“ _Gossip_ ,” Shuri scoffs, crossing her arms. She’s bedecked in an even more impressive ensemble than Steve is used to seeing, but he supposes that’s what princesses wear to formal engagements in comparison to late night dinners with illegal underground contacts.

Pepper motions for them to settle in, and King T’Challa takes a seat while Shuri grabs a bowl of fruit. She side eyes the platter of cold meats and cheese distrustfully on her way to her own armchair. 

“I’ve come today to discuss a matter of importance. It is imperative that this information stays within the confines of these walls.” Steve’s never met the king before, have only had the vaguest sense of him. The man’s only been leading for over five years, ascending to the throne after the death of his father, but his presence is commanding and undeniably worthy of respect. Steve can feel the weight of his words on the back of his neck. 

“We understand,” Bruce speaks up. “Do you need our assistance with an incident in Wakanda?” 

“No,” King T’Challa denies. “I need to make sure that if our paths cross again, you do not pursue me.” Everyone exchanges glances, at a loss. Even Steve is unprepared for this, not sure what they’re talking about. The king isn’t revealing his country’s resources after all. “On a recent mission of yours, you encountered an independent operative.”

“Wait, what?” Scott blurts out. 

“That was me,” King T’Challa gets back on his feet, and as he extends to his full height, a familiar black suit overtakes every inch of his body. This is who they ran into at their last deployment. Steve knows he’s only aware of some of Wakanda’s secrets, but this is huge. “I act as the Black Panther for my country, and pose no threat to outsiders, I assure you. If we are to intercept one another again, please do not interfere and I will do the same in return.” 

The silence is loud as they all gape, some unconsciously standing up in shock. Tony slowly steps closer to the man as if lured in by an invisible force. “Whoa, what _is_ \- Ah!” Two spears come down in front of the king in a cross, stopping Tony’s outstretched hand from making contact. “Okay, no touching! Got it!” He cradles his hand to his chest, taking a step back. “Damn, so close to losing my fingers.”

“You will speak nothing of this,” Okoye commands, retrieving her spear back into position in practiced unison with the woman on the king’s other side. She’s barely moved a muscle, but even so, something in her pose is threatening.

“We signed all the paperwork,” Pepper reminds their guests. “We understand this isn’t information we can share.”

“Thank you. General Okoye has shown me your agreement.” Steve flicks his eyes to Okoye, never having heard her title before - it fits her like a glove. It’s no surprise that someone of her calibre is always at Shuri’s side. King T’Challa may be the reigning monarch, but Shuri is one of the greatest minds of multiple generations, and the most powerful individual in many ways. Talk about putting all your eggs in one basket. 

King T’Challa transforms back into his embroidered suit, and goes to perch by Shuri’s side. “Let me introduce my sister, Princess Shuri.” His face is beaming with pride. Just like that, he redirects their attention and injects the room with a much more laid back atmosphere, steering them away from further questions about his revelation.

They make small talk with the royal siblings over decadent breakfast foods, and the group disperses into pockets of conversations. It seems like that’s all Wakanda has to share, not a word about their advanced society. Steve would be disappointed if he didn’t just see King T’Challa transform into some kind of cat woman impersonator. Except, much cooler. He wonders if he pulls out that trick at children’s birthday parties back home.

Their guests have apparently brought gifts, which Steve’s tempted to call bribes of silence, though he’d never say that out loud, of textiles and food. The rich fruits look delectable, and he can even see a couple of treats he’s partial to that Shuri usually brings for him at their annual dinners. 

Okoye makes her way over to where he’s pouring a cup of coffee for Bucky, who’s been clenching his jaw in an effort to hold in yawns. Steve’s determined to appropriately caffeinate his boyfriend. “General,” he greets, a hint of a teasing grin forming on his face. “ _I like your spear_.”

He can tell she wants to roll her eyes, and is barely resisting the urge. They’ve always had a friendly relationship, aside from acknowledging that they’re pursuing their own not-so-personal agendas. “ _Your isiXhosa has gotten better. The king is impressed._ ”

“Don’t practice for nothin',” Steve shrugs. He hands over the hot drink to Bucky, who hums in appreciation as he takes a tentative sip. He pours another cup and offers it to Okoye, but she waves it off. 

“Well, keep it up,” she cocks her head to the side. “King T’Challa wants to have dinner.” 

Steve blinks in surprise. “ _Business?_ ” Okoye doesn’t respond one way or another. “ _I thought the king steers clear of that_. _Keeps his hands clean_ ,” Steve stumbles through his words, knowing that the saying is rough in his sloppy direct translation. Okoye doesn’t seem to mind.

“You can ask him yourself.” Steve doubts she’s in the dark to the king’s motives. He would be nervous if he didn’t think Okoye was his friend. 

Shuri breaks away from her group to join them, and jumps in without a pause. “Dinner before we make our return trip at the end of the month would be best.” She takes the abandoned fresh cup of coffee from him, and mixes in a whirlwind of milk, syrup, and other additions from the excessive coffee bar on their side of the room.

“Dinner?” Tony catches onto their conversation, from where he’s loading up on croissants with Pepper. “I can get a reservation in any restaurant of your choice, Your Highness,” he offers, flashing a cocky blinding grin.

Shuri surfaces from her medley of borderline dessert coffee. “Can’t pass up the opportunity to be shown around town by the oldest New Yorker in the room,” she deflects with a teasing look his way. Natasha lets out a startled laugh, barely a chuckle but amused nonetheless. 

“I don’t know about New York, but I’ll show you Brooklyn,” Steve drawls.

“Wouldn’t expect anything else,” Shuri shrugs, and rejoins her group across the room with Okoye in tow.

He takes the empty mug from Bucky, who’s moved on to a mouthwatering breakfast sandwich. He hopes the remains of this spread will at least be eaten by staff in the building. With the buzz of multiple conversations around them, he looks to be lulled back to sleep even mid-chew. “Maybe you shouldn’t have come last night,” he murmurs, kissing Bucky’s temple in an attempt to keep him awake. 

“Ugh, and leave you to those assholes yourself?” Bucky says once he swallows another bite. It’s only partly a joke, because while the people they had to deal with _were_ assholes, Bucky doesn’t often come with when Steve shows his face once every few months or so as he had to do yesterday. 

They spent the night making an appearance at the Roshars’ monthly underground high stakes poker game, the kind of place where the people at the table had names that generate money even as they sleep, a not so insignificant portion of which they’ll end up handing over to their fellow players before the end of the night - not to mention what they lose to the house, or rather, the Roshars’ pocket. 

A decadent no holds barred night of gambling for otherwise scrutinized figures to indulge in, light on the distracting arm candy and heavy on the coke and various other vices. Steve never sticks around for long, not able to participate due to clear conflicts of interest and not being a fan of the attendees himself, but having Bucky come along made it seem better last night. Of course, having Bucky around makes everything better. He should know that by now. 

“What, did you two have a rager?” Clint chimes in as he brushes crumbs off his shirt and pants. Bucky hands over a stack of paper towels, which he uses to clean himself up. Steve’s still not sure how he feels about their friendship. He doesn’t have a problem with it, but there’s a strangeness in working with someone who has a closer relationship with your partner; not to mention all the lies and secrets. 

He’s never been good at blurring those lines, only able to fully give himself over and bare his entire self to anyone he forms a connection with. It’s always been all or nothing for him, keeping the people in his life in clear cut boxes. He admires Bucky’s ability to form meaningful friendships without compromising other aspects of his life. It makes for a less lonely time on earth.

Steve allows a small smile. “Late dinner.” 

Bruce wraps up whatever it is he’d been in deep discussion with the King, and joins their little breakfast club. “Steve, I didn’t know you speak isiXhosa,” he tops up his glass of juice. “I’ve been to some countries that speak it, but never picked it up.”

“I speak a few different languages,” he says in reply, not sure how else he would respond even if he _didn’t_ have a covert relationship with Wakanda. 

Bruce seems to come to himself, setting down his drink. “Right, of course.” 

Steve decides to not dwell on it. “Wakanda’s a very old country.”

“A little like you,” Bucky says with a shit-eating grin. Steve rolls his eyes, and finally settles on a glare, as Bucky and Clint lose themselves to barely suppressed giggles. Even Bruce is swayed to their side with a quirk of his lips. Yeah, having Bucky around definitely makes most things better. 

▽

◆

There is truly no place like home. As soon as they make it through the door, familiar smells engulf him like a well worn sweater, warm and comforting as it quiets his mind. He can feel his body relax and unwind with every passing second. 

He’s always liked this house, with its walls covered in a mess of photos and art, the furniture, canvases, and towers of books melding into one another, and the ever-present smells of Irish food clinging to patterned rugs. It always felt like home, even before he started living in it. 

Maybe that has more to do with the fact that the man he loves built and put work into each room. Who’s to say, really?

In the past year, the second floor has morphed into the hodgepodge of life that is the rest of the house; stacks of books and new additions of pictures and sketches slowly but surely creeping its way upstairs. 

The new guest room is the only area with a noticeable difference, the both of them letting Becca and Alice have their run of the place. It has a special place in Bucky’s heart, knowing that a piece of his sisters live there.

The one thing slightly out of place is the purring cat in his arms. Bucky buries his fingers in the soft fur, and finds himself yawning in time with the ball of fluff butting her head against his chest. “I know, Belinda, I’m tired too.”

“ _Belinda?_ ” Steve follows him into the house after hanging up his jacket. “What kind of name is that for a cat?” Bucky sets her down in front of the couch, and she starts exploring the area before quickly disappearing into the bowels of the first floor. “Where’d she go? Bucky?”

He turns to see a frozen Steve in the kitchen, gleaming pot in hand and eyes trained at his feet like he’s anticipating an attack. “Calm down, she’s just getting used to the new place.” Steve shuffles around the between the counter and fridge while occasionally searching the floor, and Bucky rolls his eyes even as he tamps down on the bubbling giggle. “I didn’t know you were so scared of cats.”

“I am _not_ -” Steve takes a deep breath, and deliberately brings his eyes up to meet Bucky’s. “I’m not scared of them. They’re just unpredictable, and they’ve got _claws_.” 

Bucky raises an eyebrow pointedly. “You get worse scratches from fucking me than you would from a harmless kitten.” Steve huffs, turning around to get started on whatever it is he’s cooking. To be fair to the guy, Belinda _did_ spend their car ride home hissing at Steve. The two have been warily eyeing each other ever since they met.

He swears he hears Steve mutter, “At least I get to come when you get your paws on me.”

Bucky rolls his lips and clamps them shut to keep the mischievous smirk off his face. Making his way over and sidling up next to the blonde, he tentatively asks, “And what if I wanted us to get a cat?” Steve stops dead in his tracks. He can see the gears turning in his head as the guy contemplates letting Bucky down and living with what apparently is the one thing to make the oldest Roshar alive downright twitchy. 

After a long pause he turns to ask, “ _Do_ you want a cat?” Bucky shakes his head in disbelief, because if Steve’s already asking, that means he’d probably say yes. 

He gives Steve a peck on the chin, because he can’t believe he found himself someone this wonderful. “Unclench. There are no felines in our future.” Steve smiles sheepishly and resumes getting food out of the fridge. 

“Why did Becca cat sit for Darcy if she was gonna be gone for a couple days anyway?” Steve grumbles. 

Bucky lifts himself up onto the counter and watches Steve prep ingredients. “Got her dates mixed up.” He reaches over and steals a baby carrot to munch on. “Seriously, why didn’t you mention your aversion to cats when we were picking Belinda up?”

“Belinda is a ridiculous name,” Steve says under his breath, brows furrowed as if merely the sound of it is actually upsetting him.

Bucky points out, “Darcy is kind of a ridiculous person.” Steve sighs, knowing he’s lost that argument in an instant. He pulls out his phone, already gearing up to dial up Sam. “Do you want me to set up that dinner? With Rita and Sam?” 

“No.” Bucky raises an eyebrow. “The King of Wakanda can’t be seen having dinner with Rita Ashe in Brooklyn. It’s one thing to see him with Captain America, especially after visiting Stark Tower, but-” 

Bucky quickly nods, getting the gist. “Why _does_ he want to have dinner with you?”

“I don’t know.” Steve rolls a spatula between his fingers as he waits for the water to boil. His eyes trace the grains of the wooden handle, smoothed over by years of use. “I hope he’s not pulling the plug on, well, anything. I think Shuri would’ve warned me. She wouldn’t stand for it, anyway, she knows how much we rely on their product.”

Bucky shuts off the kettle and pours it out into the pot, Steve having not realized the whistling was steadily growing louder as he loses himself in his thoughts. He finally shakes himself back to the present, and starts dumping in the vegetables and rummaging through the cupboards for numerous jars of spices. “You’re worried anyway.”

“Yeah,” Steve sighs. “As much as Shuri’s our friend, she has her own reasons for doing things, and our interests aren’t exactly her top priority.” He puts a lid onto the pot, and pulls out fresh cuts of meat from the freezer. “We’ll go to the house tonight and tell Rita what’s going on. I gotta talk to her about that new contractor too.”

“Oh, is that why you’re cooking for twenty right now?” Steve shoots him a chiding look and Bucky raises his hands in surrender. “Hey, I’m not judging.” He slips down from the counter, stretching with another yawn. “You have fun, big guy, I’m grabbing some sleep.” Bucky kisses the corner of his mouth, before leaving to get changed and into bed. “Watch out for Belinda!”

“Bucky!” Steve’s horrified protest follows him into the bedroom, and he goes to sleep thinking about the shenanigans his boyfriend and a five month old Norwegian Forest cat can get up to while he naps.

◆

Phone. Watch. Wallet.

As is the essentials of one Bucky Barnes, personal assistant to Steve Rogers. Not that anyone refers to him as such. He wonders what they _do_ call him. 

Ayisha is out on the porch when he arrives, reading a mass market copy of a science fiction book, feet up on the table where she’s got sweet tea that Bucky knows must be the batch Pietro brought over a couple days ago, and the Roshars went gangbusters for. He’s found multiple stashes across the house that people have apparently been hoarding and hiding from each other. Bucky’s not sure why they won’t just ask Pietro for more. 

“Hey!” she tucks a finger between the pages, setting the book down onto her lap. “Everyone’s inside.”

Bucky juts his chin out at the garish cover featuring a weirdly graphic and detailed crash site. “Any good?” Ayisha makes a face, and he’s not sure what it means, but he’ll cross that title off any future reading lists he might make just to be safe.

As he steps inside, he hears Ayisha call out, “Steve’s in the back!” and waves a thank you in response. He’s surprised to see porch kid around, indulging Erica in a game they’ve probably made up together, realizing it must be one of his rare days off from his apprenticeship with Bruce. He’s usually at the university where the two of them work out of Bruce’s office or the campus lab. He’s heard so many stories from Pete he can practically see the blueprint in his mind. 

Bucky greets him in passing on the way to Rita’s office in the back, knocking and waiting for someone to give him the go ahead to come in. Sam, Clara, and Dani leave when the door opens, evidently having wrapped up their meeting, but Bucky joins Steve where he’s still sitting on the couch. He’s shown no indication of getting up, and Rita’s settling onto the edge of her desk across from them, so he makes himself comfortable.

“Hey, we should go to one of the openings. I think there’s a bar that has a thing in a few months.” Bucky pulls out his phone, a new upgrade Steve recently got him as a present, to schedule it and add a reminder to double check everything. When he puts it away, he sees Steve running neatly manicured fingers through his beard, eyes locked with Rita. 

Bucky quickly senses there’s something going on, and looks between the two. “Everything okay?”

Steve sighs, and finally says, “Pete’s been asking for more jobs.” Bucky waits for more, but all he gets is, “He’s too young.”

“Steve, he’s been with us for a long time,” Rita gently but firmly reminds him. Bucky has the feeling it’s not the first time she’s said this. “He’s not exactly a kid anymore.”

“ _Of_ _course_ he’s a kid!” Steve contradicts in something resembling a growl, eyebrows pulled together and unwavering. 

Rita doesn’t let Steve’s vehemence affect her conviction. “He’s legally an adult. Whatever tame jobs he’d otherwise take up, it’s not going to matter, he’s still one of our guys.” 

Steve scoffs, shaking his head. “That’s bullshit. It always matters.” While this is hardly the first time Bucky’s seen them butt heads, he still wonders if he should be here. Those two have never hidden their disagreements, but there are also countless private closed door meetings that none of them are privy to, including Bucky. 

“You and I both know we’ve got people his age on our payroll. You can’t pretend like that’s not true.” Rita seems to be weighing her words and giving them a minute to form on her tongue, before getting out, “How old were you?”

Steve’s head whips up, eyes flashing with an emotion Bucky can’t read. “That’s different,” he grits out. “In so many-,” he swallows thickly. “In a lot of ways.” 

“Maybe.” Rita straightens up from her perch, smoothing out the lines of her pants. “But he’s just trying to make a living like anyone else. That kid deserves a little more than the shit hand he got dealt with.” 

“He’s gonna go to college, Rita.” Steve’s voice is edging on pleading, but there’s something in it that tells Bucky he knows he’s already lost this one. “ _College,_ ” he laughs, sounding somewhat hysterical. “Isn’t it our- Shouldn’t we keep him clean?”

Rita gives Steve a long look, almost pitying. “He hasn’t been clean for a long time.”

Steve buries his face in his hands, the tips of his fingers pressing against his eyelids. “Yeah.” 

“We’ll make sure he doesn’t get hurt,” Rita offers like a consolation prize, circling the desk to settle in her chair, ready to get back to work. Even with everything she said, Bucky knows Rita isn’t as unaffected as it may seem. She watched Pete grow up too, kept him out of the things he wasn’t ready for. Steve isn’t the only one who treats the kid like family. Bucky wonders how decisions like this were made when it came to her own daughter, and how Rachel handled it when Rita was growing up herself.

He has the feeling that in Steve’s case, things were a little different. Sarah Rogers died too young to keep him from doing much of anything. Steve gets to his feet, and Bucky can see him put on the layers of armor he needs to get himself together. 

“Getting hurt’s an inevitable part of the job,” he points out as he leaves, and Bucky sedately follows him out and closes the door behind them. Steve is leaning against the corridor, repeatedly flexing his fingers as he stares down at the contracting tendons. 

Bucky wastes no time in getting close, crowding his line of sight. “You okay?” He rubs his hands down unyielding thick arms, and grasps onto Steve’s skilled painter’s fingers to bring it up to his lips for comforting kisses. 

Steve bends down to rest his forehead onto Bucky’s shoulder in return, curling around his body. The, “Yeah,” he breathes out is muffled, but Bucky can feel the rumble of his voice across his own chest and seep into his bones. It’s not all that convincing. 

Bucky lets him cling on for a while, returning the embrace just as tightly, squishing the older man the way he likes it. He doesn’t know much about Steve’s early years with the Roshars, when he became actively involved in the family business. As much of an open book as Steve is, some of his past when it comes to the Roshars are still a little fuzzy for Bucky. Most of his knowledge comes from the stories he grew up on, even as he shares a bed with Steve himself. 

He doesn’t let it bother him. There are simply some things that stay unspoken when you’re with a man who lived through the early years of the Brooklyn Irish. 

“Let’s play hooky,” Bucky suggests, finally pulling Steve’s face out of the crook of his neck. The expression he finds is not too far off from that of a confused puppy, and it pulls a laugh out of his chest. “Come on, we can go for a drive or something, ditch work for a bit.” 

“It ain’t like we got a 9 to 5, Buck.” 

Bucky shrugs. “Then there’s no reason we can’t go.” He inches even closer, shrinking the barely there gap between them. “Come on, Steve, everyone needs a break once in a while.” 

Steve wasn’t exactly resistant to the idea in the first place, more hung up on the technicalities than anything, so he gives in with a tender kiss and a warm, “Sure, honey.”

They do end up taking a long drive. Steve takes them all the way upstate through a random scenic route, where he alternates between pushing the car to its limits and taking the time to cruise. 

The surrounding trees and empty stretch of road is a breath of fresh air. As much as they both love Brooklyn and the people in it, it can always help to get some space. Bucky knows Steve feels the same way, and he can only hope that the guy’s not guilt tripping himself about wanting to get away from the community that he loves more than anything else.

They drive down a dirt road entering the forest, a well worn track that leads to a clearing with picnic tables. Steve takes them a little farther out, somewhere more secluded where you can barely hear anything from the outside world, without leaving the carved out path and disturbing the area. 

Even as they stay in the car, engine off and Steve idly playing with Bucky’s fingers, it feels a little bit like a getaway. The aged leather seats beneath them might as well be a log cabin in the woods. “You always know what I need,” Steve says into the silence, and when Bucky pries his attention away from the view, he finds a look that’s more troubled than he’d like. 

He chooses his words carefully, not sure what landmines he’s avoiding. “Of course, I love taking care of you.” Steve’s face scrunches up further, and Bucky’s not sure what he could have said to keep that from happening. 

“You do so much and I don’t- God, you’re way too good to me-” Bucky goes to pull his hand away so he can do something - he’s not sure what, maybe just smack him upside the head - to get that nonsense out of Steve’s head, but the fingers tangled with his are holding on too tightly for him to properly show his displeasure. 

“Steve,” Bucky admonishes. 

Steve traces the veins in his hands. “Is it- Is it because of your job? Is that how you’re so good at this?” 

Bucky’s not even sure the question is for him to answer, but he does anyway. “If you really have to ask that, then I don’t know how you’d believe anything I say right now.”

“I just-,” Steve looks up to search his face. “I don’t feel like I’m takin’ care of you the same way, and Buck, I love you so much-” Bucky quickly kisses the frown on his forehead and then his parted mouth, curling his tongue against Steve’s almost forcefully to make a point. 

“Of course, you do,” Bucky tells him once they break apart, though neither of them make the move to separate farther than a hair’s breadth away. “You take care of me all the time, everyday. That’s what we do for each other, right?” 

Steve doesn’t answer with anything Bucky deems acceptable, but at least he doesn’t deny it. Instead, he confesses, “I’m not as good at this as you are, honey.”

“If you truly think that, then knowing everything I need is just so effortless for you that you don’t even realize it.” Bucky caresses the edge of his jaw, where the line of his beard meets the soft skin of his neck. “And that’s exactly how it is for me too. We do this for each other, Steve, and I mean that when I do something that makes you feel better, I’m doing it for me too.” 

The deep etched lines of Steve’s forehead are less pronounced, but that’s to be expected whenever Bucky gets his mouth on any part of him.

“Do you understand what I’m saying? Whatever you think I’m giving up or spending my energy on just for you, it’s because _I_ want it. Taking care of you is taking care of me.” He kisses his chin and the bobbing adam’s apple when Steve quite literally swallows down his emotions. “You take care of a lot of people, Steve. You always do.”

“Buck,” Steve tries to pull away, averting his eyes. 

“Stop it,” Bucky refuses to budge. “It may not feel like it, and sometimes things don’t end up the way you meant them to, but you help whenever you can. That’s what the Roshars have always been about, that’s the heart of what we are. That’s what you made it into.” 

Steve keeps his gaze locked somewhere in the vicinity of Bucky’s collarbone, but he manages to say, “Sometimes it’s not good enough.”

“I know.” Bucky lets the words hang in the air. It’s a truth that they constantly have to deal with.

They end up getting out of the car and taking a short walk, straying not too far off the marked path. He’s sure he’d be safe with Steve at his side if they _did_ get lost, but then again he’s never seen the guy go camping. He’d argue that World War II is too far back in time, and whatever deployment where the Avengers have been in similar terrain doesn’t count when you account for other members in the group adding more brains to the operation.

Bucky’s just being reasonable here. The last thing he needs is to get lost in the wilderness of… upstate New York. Okay, whatever, he’s being dramatic. 

Steve keeps him snuggled and pressed to his side the entire time, nuzzling his hair or engaging in more involved kisses. Halfway through the walk, he starts humming a tune Bucky can’t place, and when asked, tells him it’s a mix of old Irish songs his Ma used to sing and ones he’d sing with Rachel and some other friends. 

Bucky tries to sing along when Steve teaches him the words, but the way his boyfriend’s eyes crinkle in amusement is enough to tell him that he’s butchering the entire thing. Instead, he sticks to enjoying Steve’s low, warm voice as it wraps around the both of them, the unfamiliar words and harsh consonants a soothing melody. 

He alternates between humming along and keeping pace with the changing beat, content to bask in the feeling it evokes, but then Steve gets a glint in his eyes as he sings another selection and Bucky just _knows_ he’s singing something dirty. He chooses to mercilessly pinch him in the side, causing Steve to shriek loud enough that he worries someone will come out to see if a traveler was lost and in trouble. 

They trek their way back in fits of laughter, trading kisses that grow steadily heavier as they get to the car. By the time Steve’s got him pressed up against the door, Bucky’s tempted to peel his clothes off right there and then. The only thing stopping him is Steve wrenching the car open and wrestling the both of them inside. 

The thing about having sex in a car is that it’s never fun. It loses the appeal once you’re old enough to have somewhere else to be with your partner that _isn’t_ a cramped backseat, and it’s less of a hot, desperate round of passion and more a frustrating tangle of limbs. 

The thing about having car sex with your best friend, is that it results in so many giggles that Bucky’s stomach is hurting from laughing so much by the time Steve’s mouth finds its way between his cheeks. He’s holding back sniggers even as he breathlessly tells Steve, “You are _not_ eating me out in the back of your car. All we got’s lube and condoms.” 

“Ssh,” Steve kisses and bites at the seam of his thigh, mapping the crease and stretch marks there with his tongue. “It’ll be fine, I’ll make it good for you, honey, I swear. Just let me do this,” he noses down the sensitive stretch of skin.

Bucky huffs, “Trust me, I wasn’t worried about it being _good_ , I’m saying that- _Oh, fuck_!” He doesn’t manage anything intelligible from that point on. 

When they’re both sated a couple times over, Steve dresses him with gentle care and closemouthed kisses, and drives them home with the kind of contentment that’s bordering on smug. Bucky would be annoyed if he didn’t give as good as he got, and knows for a fact that Steve’s the one who’s going to end up having to clean the car at the end of the day.

Bucky’s the real winner here.

◆

The second time they see the Wakanda royal family is devoid of all pomp and circumstance. 

Listening to Shuri tell them about the cities she visited and a surprising amount about how much she loves gumbo - an interesting tidbit he puts a pin on for later contemplation - as they tuck into excellent Irish food, Bucky slowly takes in the king across the table.

The first thing the man said following initial hellos was a request to just call him T’Challa, a tight smile plastered on. Steve had agreed without question, surely understanding the need to separate from certain titles in select circumstances. 

Even with how easy going and personable he was at Stark Tower, T’Challa is noticeably more laid back this time around. Maybe it has to do with the fact that they’re at an Irish family restaurant that makes for a warm and lively yet cozy atmosphere, or maybe it’s the lack of formal wear, or - and he’s just spitballing here - maybe it’s the absence of the Dora Milaje in full regalia. 

It’s more likely that’s what’s putting _Bucky_ at ease, though. Surely the king is more than used to their presence. Okoye and three other women are at their posts in the crowd, a little less conspicuous sans spears. She laughed at him when he sent her a little wave, but at least she returned the greeting.

“Was your stay as good as Shuri’s?” Steve asks once the lament on gumbo wraps up.

T’Challa takes his time chewing through his mouthful of stew. Bucky gets the impression he’s the kind of person who thinks most things through, every decision deliberate. He wonders if that’s a trait inherent to who he is, or one developed by virtue of his position. He hasn’t missed that Steve is often the same way. “We went to a lot of places,” he finally says. “Some much more well off than others.”

Silence descends on the table, until Shuri speaks up. “That’s why we help, brother.”

T’Challa turns to face her, the look on his face conveying the countless times they must have gone over this very issue. “There is always more to do.” He looks at Steve, imparting, “Education, employment, and other outreach programs would be much more effective than merely giving people a supply of their needs, don’t you think?”

Steve doesn’t answer right away. It’s a tough question, given their professional relationship. “That’d certainly help,” he agrees. Steve avoids putting the subject of their ongoing business deals on the table, and steers them away from that road. “We do some of that ourselves.”

T’Challa raises his eyebrows, appraising him with cunning eyes. “Are you talking about this place?”

“You heard about it,” Steve gathers. “We’ve facilitated the neighborhood for families to come back after their initial displacement. It’s doin’ pretty well.” The Roshars are at the tail end of a major development project, buying out one of the most expensive neighborhoods in Brooklyn. It’s a strip of multiple blocks, and Laya’s restaurant, where they are right now, is smack dab in the middle of it.

“I’ve also heard how you did it,” T’Challa brings up. “Months of systematically devaluing properties through disreputable means. Correct me if I’m wrong, but a few of your men were arrested as a result, weren’t they?” Steve doesn’t say a word, aware that the king knows full well what the answer to that is. “Destruction of property, petty theft, vandalism, and trespassing, just to name a few. The list goes on.”

“The area was unbelievably gentrified. It catered to the wealthy and _only_ the wealthy,” Steve points out.

T’Challa hums as if processing the information. “And now it caters to you.”

Bucky can see Steve holding back a scowl, his impatience at war with his respect for the king. “It caters to the people. Most of the residences here are now housing low income families. Small local businesses that were driven out years ago are back and in business.” He gestures out the large window nearby. “The community center’s about finished. _That’s_ our outreach program.”

Shuri takes in the view, mom-and-pop shops alongside well-kept apartment buildings and houses. The few establishments left standing from the area’s previously gated community are expected to either close up and move soon enough, or change with the times. T’Challa barely lets himself look away from Steve. 

“You know what else I heard? _How_ you manage to buy out so many blocks in the first place.” Bucky’s honestly not sure what T’Challa’s trying to do, but despite his seemingly confrontational words, both he and Steve are calm and collected. “Are you not taking money from all these people?”

“It’s how we’re paying off the cost, yes,” Steve admits. They _are_ sinking a lot of money into this venture - it’s a big endeavor, but it’s a significant portion of Brooklyn. “But that’s for them. It means that overtime, they’re gonna own those properties, instead of the Roshars. Do you think it’d be better if I kept ownership so they’d always be under my thumb?”

T’Challa remains unruffled, getting through his stew bite by careful bite. “You say that like they won’t be paying off that debt for decades.”

Steve does scoff this time, either unable to hold his tongue or settling into the king’s direct way of approaching things. It’s becoming clear that he’s more picking Steve’s brain than trying to condemn him. It’s not like anyone here has any delusions about who the Roshars are. “Yeah, and a couple generations down the line, no one’s gonna take that shit away from them because they _own_ it.”

“And in the meantime?” T’Challa prods. “What, they do favors for you? Work for you?”

An unpleasant frown takes over Steve’s face, almost offended. “No one is _coerced_ into working with us. We provide jobs for those who need it, the people who’ve been fucked over by the system. Isn’t that the kind of effective effort you thought some places needed?”

T’Challa starts speaking, and before the words even leave his mouth, Shuri’s already trying to cut him off, to no avail. “I think what you’re doing is roping people into your organization where they’ll have to participate in order to succeed. You’re building the kind of community _you_ want to see.” 

“T’Challa, you do not need to air all your grievances,” Shuri protests.

The older man doesn’t take anything back, finally letting his eyes wander out the window. “Tell me, Steve, isn’t your noble act of reclaiming these streets also helping the Roshars solidify its roots? How is this not part of a power grab? Your intentions are not pure or moral.”

Steve doesn’t even hesitate in telling the king, “I never claimed to be either. No one ever said I was a good man.”

T’Challa holds Steve’s gaze for a long minute. “I’d tell you that you are at least honest, but that isn’t quite true, either.” Shuri shoots daggers at her brother, who sweeps his eyes across Steve’s body. “I am pleased to see you have healed from your injury. I hope my presence wasn’t what led to that incident.”

Even after the king’s grilling, _this_ is what finally makes discomfort visibly creep up on Steve. “Thank you, it wasn’t.” Is this why T’Challa wanted to meet and talk? To make sure that he wasn’t the cause of the shit show that ended with Steve barely alive? Steve doesn’t linger on the topic, choosing instead to say, “I don’t know if candor is an argument either of us have a leg to stand on.”

A smile graces T’Challa’s lips, the intensity behind everything he says not softened one bit. “That’s very true.” He cuts into a large piece of meat, then slathers it with a heap of colcannon. “I feel a responsibility for the people we cannot help due to the constraints of my country,” he confesses. “We could both do more if things were different.” 

Shuri makes a sound in reproach, catching the attention of the table. “Sometimes you can do more without scrutiny,” she suggests. “I’d argue that having the majority of the world not know who we are and what we do allows for more freedom. There are some things we cannot do in the light of day.” She catches Steve’s eye. “I think Steve would agree with me.”

Her eyes are twinkling with amusement as Steve looks between her and her brother, and even T’Challa can’t tamp down on the amused smirk. “It’s alright, Steve, you can tell Shuri she’s wrong. She won’t send Okoye after you.”

Steve huffs a laugh. “Yeah, but would _you_?”

T’Challa’s own laughter is booming, full and authentic. Despite Steve’s jab about his secrecy when it comes to all things Wakanda, he didn’t present himself with any kind of deception both times they’d seen him, always coming across as genuine. Bucky supposes that’s a large part of why the citizens of Wakanda are so fond of him - or at least he assumes they are.

“He might,” Shuri accuses. “He used to tattle on me to our mother all the time.” 

T’Challa glowers at the accusation, sounding very much like the older brother he is when he exclaims, “I do not!”

Shuri blatantly disregards his denial, suddenly sitting up in her chair. “Oh!” She points a finger at Steve. “Don’t think I forgot.” She pulls out a bag of treats from Wakanda, and Steve lights up like a kid on Christmas morning. 

“Hey, if you ply me with more of these, I’ll always take your side.” Steve peeks into the bag before putting it away, looking like he’s already counting down the minutes until he can start munching down. “We should make sure you guys get Laya’s soda farl as a dessert. It’s her specialty, she puts a twist to the traditional soda bread.”

“Well, I can’t pass up a Brooklyn Irish classic,” Shuri beams. 

T’Challa digs into his extra plate of colcannon. “This is a lot of food.” He turns to Bucky, asking, “How do you keep up?”

Bucky sips at his water, trying not to fidget under T’Challa’s assessing look. It’s extremely intimidating, no matter how kind he looks - and that’s saying a lot, having seen both Rita _and_ Steve on their scarier days. “I think my stomach can withstand twice the amount it used to before I met Steve.”

“You’re welcome.” Steve leans in to peck his cheek, and Bucky rolls his eyes, even as a smile makes it onto his face. 

The rest of dinner goes smoothly, until Steve’s wiped the last of the jam and butter off his dessert plate, and T’Challa suddenly announces, “I’d like to help with more contributions. Not a business transaction, we have no interest in profits.” 

Steve sets down the drink he was finishing off, taking the time to let T’Challa’s proclamation fully register. “I thought you disapproved of my methods.” Steve looks to be sincerely trying to see where the king is coming from.

“If things were different, maybe some of the people in this neighborhood would be much better off. We certainly have the means to have made that happen.”

“You are listening to Nakia, then,” Shuri observes.

T’Challa sends her a look that Bucky can’t decipher, but she does shrug and back off. “Maybe one day Wakanda can share its resources out in the open,” he sighs. “But for now this is how we can reach out. You have your operations, and we have ours, Steve. It is not for me to disapprove.” 

Steve furrows his eyebrows, trying to make sense of the man in front of him. “How do you know I won’t appropriate whatever you give us?”

“I can no more truly know your motives as you can mine.” T’Challa rests his hands on the edge of the table. “But despite your own misgivings, Shuri says you are a good man. Who am I to question her?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Talk to me about things if you’d like, never don’t want to know what you’re thinking.
> 
> Next chapter up soon!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> more things happen.
> 
> And of course, Meraki_Moli as a wonderful beta.

Walking through the entryway, Bucky is surprised to hear voices coming out of the living room. It’s already close to 4 am, he expected Steve to be asleep. Is Steve waiting up for him? Bucky said he’d be out until late. Is he having a bad night? He’d feel awful if that was the case and Bucky unknowingly left him alone to go out drinking with Darcy and Jane.

“Steve?” He’s not sure why he’s calling out like he could be expecting someone else to be home. Sure enough, when he turns the corner, Steve is sitting on the couch, but he’s not alone. Sam is spread out next to him, and the two of them are bedecked in what looks like the most luxurious guys’ night in imaginable. 

The first thing Bucky notices are the face masks. While Bucky is meticulous about taking care of his hair, Steve has always paid more attention to his skin. Apparently Sam is on the same bandwagon. Their faces are covered in a layer of gold, and additional clear peel off masks sit snugly under their eyes. 

“Buck, you’re home,” Steve gets up to kiss him hello, bounding over as soon as he puts away the bowl of popcorn on his lap. Bucky tries his best not to cringe away, even when logically he knows the mask is dry. 

He follows Steve back to the couch, taking in the boxes of pizza and containers of ice cream spread out on the coffee table, Steve’s open bottle of super alcohol and Sam’s pile of beer, and the mostly empty bowl of popcorn. The movie playing is on pause, but even moderately tipsy, Bucky can tell it’s Pretty Woman by the single frame of Julia Roberts in the bathtub. 

“You wanna join us?” Steve asks, looking like it’s the one thing that can make his night better. 

Bucky raises an eyebrow. “What would I be joining exactly?”

Sam tosses him a beer without warning, and Bucky catches it just in time. He’s lucky Sam’s aim isn’t shot to shit, knowing how much of a lightweight he is. “Mask and Movie Monday!” he’s pulling a face like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, even though they both know for a fact this is a newly made up thing. It’s not even a Monday. 

“Is there a reason you’re doing this at 4 am in the morning?” Sam presses play on the movie, settling in and going back to demolishing his pepperoni pizza. Guess he’s decided that he’s done talking to Bucky. Oh well.

Steve checks the time and grimaces. “We kinda lost track of time, I guess.” He makes grabby hands at Bucky, and finally makes contact with the edge of his dark sheer top to pull him closer. “Come on, honey, you haven’t missed the best parts yet. Vivian hasn’t even gone on her shopping spree.”

Bucky shakes his head fondly, kissing the top of Steve’s hair to avoid the stuff on his face. “I’m so fucking tired, Steve, I’m gonna go to sleep. You enjoy Richard Gere with Sam. Don’t forget to clean up.”

Sam washes down his pizza with a large gulp of beer, sending him a scathing look. “Please, this movie is all about Julia Roberts.” He switches over to a bowl of ice cream covered in gummy bears and chocolate chips, scoffing, “Psh, _Richard Gere_ , honestly.”

“I didn’t know you were such a fan,” Bucky delights in discovering this Julia Roberts admiring side of the guy.

Sam almost looks scandalized. “Are you saying you’re not?” Before Bucky can correct him, Sam’s already moved on. “We did a whole marathon. Notting Hill, Runaway Bride, My Best Friend’s Wedding, all the classics.”

“What? No Pelican Brief?” Bucky teases. 

Steve scowls. “Sense the theme, Buck.”

Bucky heaves a sigh, and contemplates helping clean up. They don’t _look_ too drunk to get it done themselves, but they’re definitely much less sober than Bucky is. Especially with Steve breaking out his special stash and Sam’s small army of empty bottles, he’s not sure he trusts them to return the living room to its previous state. “Ah, fuck it. I’m going to bed.”

“Wait, no, honey,” Steve reaches out once he walks away. “Kisses.”

Bucky comes back to indulge his boyfriend and gives in to a couple chaste kisses good night. “Go back to your sleepover.” He traces the edges of Steve’s shiny mask. “How long have you guys had these on?”

“Huh?” Sam peels his attention away from the screen, and promptly jumps up off the couch. “Oh shit!” 

Bucky gets the pleasure of watching Steve and Sam race for the bathroom to wash off their face. He doesn’t quite know the effects of leaving a mask on too long - or how long they’ve left them on exactly - but he’s fairly sure it’s nothing too severe like burning your skin off, so he leaves them to it. He can deal with Steve’s skincare crisis in the morning.

◆

“This was ingenious,” Clint says between sips of mint chocolate chip milkshake. New York has gotten steadily warmer as May descends, the cool spring air only a light breeze as the sun beats down on them. Bucky came up with the brilliant idea to enjoy the weather with their post workout treat, so they’ve camped out in a partially shaded spot in Prospect Park.

“I am very intelligent, this is true.” Bucky leans back on his elbows, stretching out to bask in the sunshine. “Graduated summa cum laude and everything.”

Clint looks at him in surprise. “No shit.”

“Don’t sound so shocked,” Bucky laughs. “Did my degree in mechanical engineering. It was _not_ a cakewalk.”

“Oh, come on, that’s not what I meant,” he flicks water at Bucky from the condensation on his to-go cup. “Is that why you know how to build a motorbike?” He had shown Clint his mostly built Harley, the very same one Steve had gifted him a couple years ago on their first Christmas together. Back then it was mostly parts, but he’s spent the past two years working on it on and off, whenever he had the time to go over to the garage and bug Grieves when he needs the help.

“Yeah, now I just gotta get Steve to teach me how to ride it.” Bucky swirls his caramel fudge milkshake around. “The bike,” he immediately adds. “I know how to ride the other thing just fine.”

Clint fakes gagging noises as he laughs. “Steve must be dirtier than I thought if he ended up with you.”

“You got no idea,” Bucky mutters, picking up his phone as it pings with a new text. “Speaking of, Steve’s here.”

“Ah, the elusive Mr. Rogers comes out of hiding,” Clint does an impression of a nature documentary narrator. “It’s a rare appearance we’re graced with today.”

Bucky frowns, not all that pleased by the teasing. It doesn’t feel very nice. “Don’t do that, he just keeps busy.”

Clint doesn’t apologize, but he does refrain from taking things further. “Doing what exactly? I’ve known the guy for almost a decade now, and I still don’t know what he spends his time on. He can’t possibly be _that_ obsessed with renovating his house.”

“Actually, he’s quite the interior decorator,” Bucky slurps at his drink. It’s true, to an extent. He was bored out of his mind when they spent what felt like eternity on picking out paint colors, furniture, and the other hundred things Steve wanted his opinion on when redoing the second floor, but Steve had taken to it like a duck to water. “Today, however,” Bucky sees Steve walk down the path towards them, and waves him over. “He’s got other duties to attend to.”

“Uh,” Clint pushes his sunglasses up into his hair. Steve’s carrying a bag laden with any and everything he might need, a large picnic blanket, and Rhea strapped into a carrier across his chest.

As soon as he makes it to their little grove, Steve greets him with a quick kiss and a mumbled, “Hi, honey,” against his mouth, Rhea wiggling and reaching out to Bucky from where she’s trapped between them. “Hey, Clint, how you been?”

“Um, good, man.” Clint blinks a couple times, before motioning to the space in front of him. “You’ve got, uh, a baby somewhere around here,” his hands make an indistinct blob under his chin. 

Steve laughs, grabbing onto Rhea’s flapping hands. “Yeah, I know.”

“Okay,” Clint shrugs. “Just checking.” Steve shoos them away from their sprawl, gesturing to the picnic blanket draped over his arm. Once they all settle back on the ground, Steve releases Rhea from the contraption and lets her crawl across his lap.

Steve reaches around for Bucky’s milkshake, stealing sips of it even as he whines, “Aw, you didn’t get me any?” Rhea pulls Steve’s arm closer, peering curiously at what’s in his hand. “Do you think it’d be okay to let Rhea have a taste? What do you say, baby girl, you wanna give this a try?”

Bucky snatches the cup away in a flash. “For fuck’s sake, Steve, how does anyone trust you with a baby?” He’s gonna tell on him to Maia when they have dinner later. She’s off spending some quality time with Rita and treating herself to a bunch of things she wouldn’t normally be able to do when saddled with her ten month old. She’ll probably do that for every coming visit, pawning off the baby to either of its godparents. At least it means she’ll be in town more often, much to Steve’s delight.

He doesn’t know if Rhea can sense that she’s missed out on some truly excellent frothy delicacy, but she tries to crawl and reach out to Clint’s half drunk milkshake when the one in Steve’s grasp is taken away. Steve swiftly drags her back and sequesters her in his arms, not giving into her pleas of, “Guppy, guppy!”

“Sorry, Bucky says that ain’t good for you,” Steve kisses the top of Rhea’s head.

Clint clears his throat, eyeing the baby like a deer in the headlights. “Did you two have a kid and forget to mention it?” He’s clearly not being serious, but something in his tone says he wouldn’t be surprised if that _was_ the case.

Bucky snorts a laugh. “Hah, no. Steve’s babysitting.” 

Steve absentmindedly plays with Rhea’s baby soft hair, making tiny braids out of the surprisingly thick curls. “How was your class?” he asks, and Clint instantly grimaces. Even Bucky makes an unpleasant face. “That bad?”

They’ve recently switched to an intermediate class, and while both of them are in great shape, it’s always tough getting used to a new routine. “I’m starting to think we should get the team to pick this up. Really challenge ourselves. Plus, it’d be a great group activity.”

“Yeah, right,” Steve scoffs. “Can you imagine Tony doing pilates? He’d run his mouth through the whole thing and that’s a whole other kind of challenge I don’t think any of us wants to deal with.” 

Clint gives him a long look, but when he seems to have the resolve to say whatever is on his mind, Rhea shrieks an earsplitting, “Guppy!” and grabs him by the beard.

Steve peels off her iron grip with a wince, and settles her with little effort. “What is she asking for?” Clint tries to decipher her baby talk.

“Nothing,” Steve sighs, already resigned to where this conversation is going.

Bucky giggles as he takes Rhea in his arms and gives Steve a break, brushing off some of the grass stains on her clothes. “It’s what she calls Steve.” Clint raises his eyebrows to prompt him to elaborate, sensing more to the story. “It’s short for Grandpoppy.”

Steve groans, covering his face with a giant hand. “It’s so stupid. Her mom keeps calling me that _as a joke_ and this little scoundrel picked it up.” He lightly pinches Rhea on the leg, causing her to squeal a laugh. “Soon as she can talk for real, I’m makin’ her call me somethin’ else.”

“Wow,” Clint drawls out. “That is- Huh.” He gives Steve a once over. “You don’t actually have an illegitimate child somewhere that we never knew about right? This isn’t their kid?”

Steve rolls his eyes. “Wouldn’t my kid be like 80 by now?” Clint concedes the point after some thought. “Also, _illegitimate child_? Really?” 

“Seemed appropriate at the time,” Clint shrugs. “Hey, Bucky says you’re all HGTV these days. You wanna see what my new greenhouse looks like and fulfill your dream to be a Property Bother?” 

The excitement on Steve’s face isn’t even a little bit fake. When Clint shows him a bunch of pictures on his phone and talks about what he’s trying to do with the space, he bursts with ideas and offers so many practical insights. Clint even takes notes to incorporate them into his restructuring, sending a disbelieving look Bucky’s way, which earns him a quirked eyebrow that screams _I told you so_.

◆

△

Clara’s voice is tinny over the speaker, but it rings loud in Rita’s office. Despite the shoddy connection, they can hear the muffled pounding and cries of protest clearly enough.

“You sure it’s him?” Steve asks, hunched over the table like he’d be able to hear Clara better if he was closer to the phone. He’s never broken himself of the habit, even with so many serum enhanced years under his belt.

Clara grunts, presumably jumping to sit on the trunk of her car going by the sound it makes at the added weight. The incessant background noise remains. “Yup, hundred percent. I can’t tell if he’s cocky or dumb as fuck, messing with one of our jobs.”

Steve straightens up, exchanging a look with Rita, before seeing what Sam and Dani have to say. Neither of them voices an opinion. The only thing piercing the silence is the continuous dull thumps and occasional garbled _let me out you bitch you’re gonna fucking regret this_ from Clara’s end of the line.

“He’s charming,” Rita notes. “I don’t know how he pulled this off and fucked over so many crews.” Rick, the man in question, has been blowing through group after group of people pulling medium sized jobs, across the midwest and part of the east coast. His M.O. seems to be to take all the winnings once everything’s wrapped up, and leave the rest of the crew high and dry. 

He hasn’t taken any money from the Roshars but he did have the gall to try and worm his way into one of their big jobs of the month, crashing the site a couple guys were casing, and throwing a wrench in very carefully laid plans. Even after everything, he still thinks he’s getting off scot-free. Fat chance of that. 

If Steve had to guess, Rick probably stayed under the radar by avoiding anything too high profile. The only reason they know about him is that Clara keeps excellent tabs on anything that’s out of the ordinary. It may also be because they know the Chicago Mob was hit just a couple months ago, and they’re _pissed_. 

Therein lies the dilemma.

“Hey, you’re welcome to break a couple bones just for that mouth,” Steve offers, but Clara dismisses it with a laugh. He heaves a sigh, waiting for Rita to take the lead. He doesn’t get to hand this one off to her, however, because she’s waiting for his cue right back. 

Rita doesn’t let his silence force her into making any decisions for him. He should’ve known better, really. This _is_ Rachel’s daughter, for one. If there was anyone that can out-stubborn Steve it’d be her. “You’re the one who has a history with them,” she points out. “This is your call.” 

“Look, I know we’re not at each other’s throats these days, but I’m not exactly itching to do ‘em any favors,” Steve grumbles. He turns his attention to Bucky, the man he looks to for the right thing to do when at a crossroads. Maybe he isn’t Steve’s moral compass, per se, but he’s _something_. He usually is, anyway. Right now he’s just as passive as the rest of the people in the room.

He’s really starting to get tired of everyone’s hesitance when it comes to dealing with the Chicago Mob. It’s not like he’s going to throw a goddamn fit every time someone mentions them - anymore, that is. There was give or take a year there where caution was needed.

Dani clears his throat, shifting on his feet. “They did end up paying us for that stolen shipment all those years ago, even after we put that hit out on their guys.”

Well, at least _one_ of them has the balls to speak up. “Yeah, but that was more about buttering us up for the truce.” He finds Rita’s calm, dependable gaze, trying to gain wisdom from her decades of careful maneuvering through similar predicaments. “Question is, did it work?”

Rita doesn’t budge. “You tell me.” 

Steve sighs, giving himself over to the choice. “That’s a yes if I’ve ever heard one.” Rita pulls out a stamped envelope, clearly writing out the necessary addresses. It won’t actually go through the post, but hand delivered mail marked New York is all but signing by name. “Photos for proof. Just film, no digital.” Dani nods, already heading out to grab everything once he gets the envelope from Rita. “Clara, southern warehouse in thirty.”

The phone crackles a loud, “You got it,” before shutting off with a click. 

“Hudson?” Steve asks.

“I’ll grab one of the cars and make the trek, take Gen with me.” Sam goes to make his arrangements, leaving the three of them alone. 

Rita circles her desk to lean on it beside Steve. “Regardless of your old friends, this guy has been pissing off dangerous people left and right, and leaving them in the dust, not to mention how he was messing with one of our own crews. Helping out the guys who have promised a cease fire on us is just the bonus.” Steve gives her a half-hearted glare at her choice of words. “Hell, I’ll do it myself.”

“You know that’s not my problem,” he says calmly. Because it’s really not. Getting blood on his hands was never the concern. That ship sailed lifetimes ago. “I just feel like we’re digging ourselves into this-” he gestures vaguely. “Alliance or whatever.”

“Doesn’t have to be a bad thing,” Rita counters.

He cards fingers through his hair and down into his beard, already in need of a trim. “Yeah, I just gotta get used to it.” Steve gets up, rolling his shoulders to loosen up his muscles. He lets himself fantasize about getting a massage, something he doesn’t indulge in enough. 

Bucky leans against his side and rubs at the ball of tension in his upper back without a thought, causing the ever-present warmth in his chest for this incredible man to burst to life. “Come on,” he pulls Steve by the hand, guiding him as always. Steve’s not sure he’d ever find his way again if he ever lost Bucky.

▽

◆

The whole thing took no time at all. 

By the time he and Steve drove up to the warehouse, Sam and Gen were right behind them with the car and everything was prepped. Bucky stood waiting by the door as Steve made his way inside, the sound of crinkling plastic echoing through the doorway with every step. Rick got two words into whatever pleading spiel he could come up with at the sight of Steve, then the shot rang out and it was over. 

Bucky’s already got a change of shirt ready when Steve comes out, after the five minutes he always takes to clean his gun thoroughly. He sheds Steve’s ruined button down and replaces it with the spare as the guys work to wrap things up. Steve looks good as new when Dani shows him the film roll and seals it in the envelope.

“Make sure it gets there by morning,” Steve orders, following the small package with his eyes as it disappears into Dani’s jacket. 

“It’ll make it,” Bucky assures him, wanting Steve to finally get the goddamn Chicago Mob off his mind. “Come on, let’s get something to eat.” 

They end up at the deli, because their food is truly unparalleled. Carl tells them from behind the counter that Rita’s upstairs, so Steve goes to fill her in while Bucky orders their food and settles in a booth. He has a feeling Steve will be on edge until at least morning, when they’d know for sure that their message got through. He wonders if those guys are the type to send fruit baskets. He’d ask Steve but the guy isn’t exactly fond of reminiscing on whatever stories he has in his back pocket that involves their recent ally.

Carl comes over with the usual mountain of plates, from main dishes to desserts, never forgetting Steve’s favorite pie. “How about a special mousse too?” he offers.

“I think Steve would really appreciate that, thanks,” Bucky pulls a plate of cheese fries closer. He looks up to Carl still standing over him, which isn’t too unusual an occurrence. They sometimes chat when he’s not busy. “How you doing, Carl?”

“Fine,” he says shortly, his large frame anything but imposing with the air of serenity he always exudes. “I’m going to say something, and it might not be very nice.”

Bucky blinks in surprise. “Uh, okay?”

He doesn’t try to look away as he tells Bucky, “I’m sorry to say I thought you were no good for Steve, and that you were only gonna bring trouble.” Bucky gapes, speechless, at the straightforward and candid way Carl says all of that to his face. He did say he’s sorry, though, so maybe he doesn’t think that anymore? Bucky can only hope.

“I- Um,” he tries to come up with some kind of response. Thank you doesn’t seem appropriate for obvious reasons.

“I remember when he first took you here, and even then, I could see how he looked at you. A fool could figure that out in no time, and well,” Carl looks him over. “You’re anything but a fool.”

This time he does manage a whispered, “Thank you.” Damn, he always thought Carl liked him. So much for being able to read people. 

“I was waiting for it to go to shit.” He rests his hands on his hips, the tight muscles of his arms flexing with the way he moves. “And he just kept getting happier. That made it worse.” Bucky gulps, not knowing where this is going. He can’t believe Carl hates him. He’s gonna miss the pies if he can’t come back here - which probably is actually impossible, with the place being a hub for the Roshars. “But then you got happier, too.”

He doesn’t dare tear his eyes away for fear of lowering the man’s perception of him further. “I did?”

“I see moments of happiness here all the time,” he shares. “This is where people come to celebrate, all the little things that go well in their lives is talked about over my food. It’s also where a lot of them come to find that feeling, from whatever I serve on their plate, because we both know folks around here got it tougher than most.” 

Bucky looks down at the table completely covered in deli food, poking at the chili with his fry. “Your food makes me happy all the time,” he tells him. “Steve, too.”

“Hmm.” Carl doesn’t doubt it. “Well, I’ve seen so many more happy moments in his life with you in it. I’d hate to see that change, for either of your sakes. Even my cooking can’t replace that kind of happiness.” He pats Bucky on the shoulder, then returns to the kitchen.

Bucky goes over the conversation is his head a couple times, shoveling fries covered in cheese and chili into his mouth. He’s almost certain Carl said all of that to be nice. Well, guess he’s a pretty good judge of people after all. Steve comes back with Rita in tow, but she just waves goodbye on her way out while he slips into the booth

“You okay?” Steve asks him, brows furrowed in worry over whatever expression is on Bucky’s face.

Bucky reaches over to give him a gentle yet thorough kiss, parting Steve’s lips with his own and tasting his tongue for half a second. “Yeah, I’m great.” He settles back in his seat, cocking his head towards the counter. “Carl is making you some special mousse.”

“He’s the best,” Steve sighs, not dissimilar to a blushing maiden in a romance novel.

Bucky breathes through his laugh, kicking Steve under the table. “Hey, I love you.”

Steve looks at him fondly, eyes soft and so full of tenderness, if a little confused by Bucky’s mood. “I know, honey. I love you too.” Bucky brushes their lips together one more time before letting Steve get started on the spread laid out in front of him. He listens to Steve’s little moans of pleasure from each bite, until the mousse comes along and makes everything just that much better.

◆

The moment Bucky walks into the lounge, Tony jumps up from his seat at the kitchen island. “Bucky!”

He and Steve side eye each other, not sure why Tony’s so excited to see him. Steve lifts the thick packet of documents in hand, flicking it back and forth. “Where should I put this? Should I give this to you?”

“Um, no, that sounds like a bad idea.” Tony looks around, though it’s unclear what he’s looking for. “I gave mine to Pepper?” Bucky quickly texts Pepper to ask her himself, and she replies surprisingly quickly to wait for her to come up.

“Pepper’s on her way here,” Bucky tells Steve, taking the packet from him. Steve steers them towards the fridge, and picks through the assortment of packaged food and drinks. Bucky pulls out a bottle he’s never seen before, and turns to Tony. “What the fuck is Stark Water?”

Tony takes the drink from him, cracking open the cap and taking a sip with an exaggerated _ahh_. “It’s like smart water! We kind of tried to develop a few prototypes but nothing ever launched,” he shrugs. “Shame, I love the Stark Water idea.”

Bucky personally thinks it sounds kind of like a shitty product, but he holds his tongue. “Here, Buck,” Steve hands him a Red Bull, and finds himself an ice cold sweet tea. He gets a peck in thanks, quickly popping the tab and taking a sip. 

“So,” Tony leans against the kitchen island. “A little birdie told me you’re some kind of engineering genius.” 

Bucky raises an eyebrow. “A little birdie? Is that supposed to be some kind of pun?”

Tony tilts his head a fraction. “Huh. It wasn’t, actually.” He shakes his head as if to clear it. “Anyway, I was getting at something.” He points at Bucky. “Engineering! Mechanical engineering, to be exact. What are you doing following this guy around?” He waves vaguely in Steve’s direction.

Bucky slowly says, “Because it’s my job.”

“And what if you had a different job? Say, at Stark Industries, working with me.” His grin is so bright Bucky almost feels bad for how this conversation is going to go.

The thing is, Bucky really loves his job. He really likes what he does for the Roshars, aside from being able to work with his best friend. The Steve shaped bonus is just the cherry on top.

Sure, he’s had people think of him as nothing but Steve’s arm candy, but none of those people actually mattered. Especially because Steve seems to easily sniff them out and somehow avoid them at all costs. Anyone with half a brain quickly got with the program and caught on that the way to work with Steve at all is to work with Bucky and get things _through_ him, so if you burn that one bridge, well, you were pretty much fucked.

The point is, he’s already doing _the thing he loves_. He believes in what Steve and Rita work towards, and he works with some really fucking cool people. Maybe in a couple decades he’ll end up doing something else entirely - though probably not completely away from the Roshars since that’s become his home - but he’s got pretty much the fulfilling job everybody dreams about as is.

He’s also making a lot of money, so there’s that. 

Of course, with Steve’s own fortune that even Bucky - the person who basically runs his life - does not know the full extent of, he’s all in all set for life. 

“That’s a really generous offer, Tony, but I like what I do just fine. Not looking for anything else,” Bucky shuts down the suggestion.

To no one’s surprise, Tony does not let it go. “Come on, you’ll get to do what you’ve always wanted, use your degree, the whole shebang! I mean, you can’t tell me you never thought about working for Stark Industries.” 

“Enough, Tony.” Steve cuts in. “Bucky’s made himself perfectly clear.” Tony stares at Steve with contempt, an expression so at odds with the joking manner he usually has when trying to rile Steve up.

This is exactly the problem with these two. They’re both so used to everyone doing what they say without question, getting what they want one way or another. In very different circumstances, sure, but both of them have had years of running their own show, hundreds of people that’ll do their bidding with a single word, and they’ve gotten used to that kind of unrivaled authority. 

Dealing with people in similar positions of power should be a cakewalk for either, but with Tony missing crucial information about Steve as a person, and Steve never wanting to spend the time to build those relationships with people who don’t already know who he is - well, they’re pretty much at a standstill. 

Bucky doesn’t know how they’ve worked so well as teammates all these years. Maybe not spending too much time together outside of those controlled environments where they’ve got clear roles, is exactly how things haven’t fallen apart. 

Pepper’s really got her work cut out for her. Someone comes through one of the side corridors, and he thinks he’s actually summoned the woman just by thinking her name, but it’s Bruce dressed in a neatly pressed suit.

“Wow, Bruce, you look great,” Steve rakes his eyes down the man’s figure. “Hot date?”

Bruce’s cheeks color at the compliment, a bashful smile taking over his face, likely against his will. “Yeah, actually. My wife and I are joining Tony and Pepper for dinner at this new restaurant.” That explains Pepper’s absence. She’s probably getting ready and will swing by on her way out. Bruce’s eyes flick to Tony. “Do you want to join us? I’m sure Tony can arrange for a bigger table.”

“Oh, yes!” Tony brightens, all animosity forgotten. “You should definitely come.”

Bucky’s quick to say, “Thanks, but we’ve got plans.” Steve, on the other hand, deliberately looks over his own clothes, a pair of dark wash jeans, a clearly well-made but worn-in shirt, and a leather jacket that’s more for comfort and use instead of fashion. He looks fucking great, because he always does, but he’d probably get turned away at the door wherever Tony has reservations. Or maybe not, you never know with Steve’s name.

Tony makes his disappointment known, but Bruce looks like he expected the brush off. Steve’s offer of, “Maybe next time,” is met with an unconvincing _sure_ from under Bruce’s breath. If he can hear it, he’s sure Steve didn’t fail to catch it either. “How’s work? Pete says he’s been helping you with some really cool research and promising patents pending,” he prompts the curly haired man.

Bruce scrutinizes Steve a little too long, before clearing his throat. “Yeah, things are looking good. Pete’s a nice kid, he’s been great to have around.” His lips form a fond smile, which seems to be everyone’s reaction to getting to know porch kid, so Bucky’s not surprised. “He speaks really highly of you, Steve. You still see him a lot?”

Steve downs half of his bottled iced tea. “Yeah, not as much, but I see him around.”

“Well,” Bruce chuckles. “Don’t wear him out too much working on your lawn. We need him over in the labs.”

Steve finishes his drink and tosses it in the trash. “Sure,” he says with a little bite to his tone. Neither of them seem to want to break the sudden tension, until Pepper makes her entrance. Steve turns a blinding grin on her, whistling at the intricately tailored asymmetrical dress in shades of dark blue. “You look about ready for a night out.” 

Pepper smirks almost teasingly, wiggling her fingers for the packet. “Let me take a look at those.”

Bucky hands over the documents for inspection. “I know you got fancy reservations and everything, but maybe you should let us take you out instead,” Steve offers, his smile somehow more on the sweet and genuine side instead of leering. The redhead snorts as she goes through a few key pages, giving Steve a knowing arched eyebrow.

Tony turns an incredulous look on him. “Are you hitting on my wife right now?”

“‘Course not,” Steve sounds almost sincere. “I’m sure she’s very hap-” Bucky’s elbow to his ribs cuts him off before he can be _too_ much of an asshole. Pepper even exchanges commiserating glances with him. 

“Right,” Tony draws out the word. “Look, Bucky, my offer stands, okay? Anytime you want in, you’ve got your foot in the door. I mean, it’s gotta be better than being PA to your boyfriend.” He points a thumb at Steve. “You’ll be working under me. Hey, if you’re so attached to the title, we can call you my PA too.” 

Steve shoots ice cold daggers at him, and he’s not the only one. Everyone else in the room is looking at him like he’s lost all common sense as soon as the words are out of his mouth. “Are _you_ hitting on my Bucky right now?” Steve manages to keep his voice level, but the control behind it makes it all the more menacing.

“What?!” Tony looks around to find both his wife and his friend sending him silent warning signs with their eyes. “No! It was a joke!” He flaps his hands at Bruce and Pepper. “You guys missed the first half of this conversation, you can’t judge!”

Pepper sighs, lightly pinching the bridge of her nose. “These are fine,” she puts Steve’s packet away. “Thank you, Steve, I’ll let you know if it ends up needing any additions.” 

“Sure,” Steve nods, giving Tony one last glance. 

Bucky’s never been more thankful for Steve’s habit of making sudden goodbyes and getaways. He has a feeling Steve’s got the same urge to make a quick exit based on how tightly his arm clutches at Bucky hip as he leads them away. It’s a relief when they finally drive across the bridge.

◆

Tapped, the bar opening down the street from Laya’s restaurant, is packed as anticipated. With every new business that launches in the neighborhood, people come to show their support and celebrate. This is no different. Customers spill out onto the sidewalk, making themselves comfortable on the benches outside. A couple waiters flit in and out to serve food and drinks, and the buzz of warm conversation fills the large room.

All of that is exactly what Bucky expected, except for the fact that the owner of the bar is none other than Luke Cage, one of his old high school friends. He had just put another order of jalapeños poppers for their table, because Steve had eaten the last of it and Sam was _livid._ Bucky can only hope to get a replacement order in time. 

He finds Luke talking to Steve when he returns to the table, a full portion already in hand. “I see a fight didn’t break out while I was gone,” Bucky notes as he puts down their food. Sam’s the first to swipe the biggest piece and shove it in his mouth.

Before Steve can make introductions, Luke’s already giving him a through once over, lips spreading into a wide smile. “Look at you, Barnes,” he pulls Bucky into a hug, giant arms enveloping him.

Bucky goes all the way to his tiptoes to return the greeting, until Luke bends down to give him some reprieve. “Luke, I didn’t realize you were in Brooklyn, thought you left for the west coast a few years back.”

“Yeah, I did,” Luke lets go of him. “Just moved back, actually. Opening this place was the perfect excuse to come home.” Something unreadable crosses his face. “I heard you were doing pretty well.”

Bucky shrugs. “Not bad. I’m guessing you’ve met everyone, then,” he nudges Steve one stool over so he can take a seat. “Luke and I went to high school together,” he tells the table.

Luke smacks him on the arm none too gently. “Guess who else is here?” Bucky goes through his rolodex of people he and Luke might both know. A lot of them are people he hasn’t seen in a decade. Luke scans the crowd until he finds whoever it is he’s looking for, and calls out, “Matt!”

Bucky watches Matt Murdock, another one of his close friends from high school, make his way over. “How is Matt here? You guys still keep in touch?”

“Called him up when I was setting up the bar. He helped me with this whole thing.” Luke says, gesturing around at the dark wood paneled walls around them, high top tables, and bustling bar. “Matt, Bucky Barnes is here!”

As soon as Matt is in arms’ reach, they’re hugging each other hello, laughing in giddy excitement. It’s been years since all three of them have seen each other, and they used to be thick as thieves. Looking back, he’s not sure why they never got back in touch after falling out of each others’ lives gradually. Granted, Bucky might have dropped off the social calendar when his Ma passed and he spent most of his time raising Alice, but it’s not like they parted ways on a bad note.

Bucky introduces him to Steve and Sam, Matt barely reacting to Steve’s name, though Bucky still knows him well enough to catch the flicker of recognition. He’s probably dealt indirectly with Steve anyway, if he was involved in setting up Tapped. 

Steve leans into his side, eyes filled with mirth. “You know, we haven’t heard a thing about what Bucky was like high school.”

“Oh, the stories I’ve got,” Matt teases, twirling the white cane in his hand. 

Luke cackles, “We can regale you with endless-”

“Do _not_ ,” Bucky points a threatening finger at both of them. “I was a mess, we don’t need to go down memory lane.” He pecks Steve on the jaw, telling him, “I’ll tell you about it another time.” He _was_ a mess, helping his mom take care of the house and navigating his own teenage drama. It’s not hard for him to talk about, but some of it _is_ unbelievably embarrassing. 

“I think _someone_ should share the burden of these memories, Bucky,” Matt protests, but Bucky quickly shushes him. “Well, I wanna hear about what I’ve missed, between Luke showing up all I’ve got just enough cash and I wanna open a bar, and you- Well. You’ll have to fill me in there.”

“Let’s get together soon, and we can trade highlights,” Bucky suggests, sincerely meaning it. It’d be nice to revive this old friendship and get to know these men again. He’s sure they’ve all got stories from the past ten years. He pokes Luke in the arm. “Since one of us is a fancy business owner now, I’m sure we’ll have the perfect place to go to.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Luke bats his finger away. “Pick a night next week and I’ll save us the best table.” He slings an arm around Matt. “Gotta get back to work, nice to meet you guys,” Luke nods at Steve and Sam. “Next week, Barnes,” he smacks Bucky on the arm, and drags Matt away with him, who parts with a decisive, “I will see you Wednesday night. No take backs.”

Steve pouts at him once his friends are gone. “I can’t believe you deprived me of tales of teenage Bucky.” Bucky kisses his plump lower lip, unable to resist when Steve looks so inviting. Well. if he’s honest with himself, Steve always looks inviting, but he’s got enough self control to not maul the guy round the clock. He doesn’t know how he survived the first three months of working for Steve and keeping his hands to himself without going crazy.

Sam washes down his third jalapeño popper in as many minutes, voicing his own objection. “Yeah, that Luke guy was all for it. I gotta load up on blackmail material on you.”

Bucky scrunches up his nose. “And I’m just supposed to let that happen? Keep digging, Sammy.” 

Sam scowls, “Hey, only Steve gets to call me that.” It’s true, he’s never heard anyone call Sam by the nickname. Not even Riley, but that probably had more to do with the fact that they have their own sickeningly sweet pet names for each other. He wants to pretend to hate them as a couple but they’re the kind that makes you believe in soulmates and destiny.

Bucky pulls Steve closer, wrapping the older man’s arms around his waist. “I’m sure he doesn’t mind sharing the privilege.” He kisses Steve’s chin, asking, “Right?”

Sam narrows his eyes at him. “You’re cheating. This isn’t fair, I can’t tempt Steve with my body.” While Bucky may have certain advantages when trying to sway Steve into one thing or another, they both know Sam’s always got the last word on anything that matters. Good thing too, since he’s always got his head on straight, even if he’s a little closer to Steve on the reckless side despite appearances.

“You can try,” Bucky suggests. Sam flips him off, and his death glare is practically scorching. He has half a thought that maybe Steve and Sam slept together once but then remembers Riley’s been in the picture long before they even met. 

Steve looks warily between the two of them. “I feel like this is a trap.”

Bucky sighs, “And I thought you loved me.” Steve rolls his eyes, but does kiss the side of his head, dragging him closer and almost onto his lap. 

“‘Course I do, honey, but Sam’s lookin’ at me like he’s planning my not-so-accidental death, and I gotta amend my will before that happens.” Steve tugs him off his stool and fully onto his thigh, Bucky snuggling in with zero complaints. He’s always loved feeling engulfed by Steve’s bulk. “Sam’s one of the few people who can pull it off.”

“And don’t you forget it,” Sam says with a flourish, draining his drink. “Ugh, I am not sticking around where I’m not respected.” He makes his goodbyes, confirms a couple meetings for tomorrow, and leaves them to each other’s company. 

“Looks like this place is gonna do well,” Bucky says, looking around at the crowd. The day of the opening is always particularly full of customers, but he can see people really enjoying themselves. He’s gotta congratulate Luke on hiring a great cook.

Steve nuzzles into the top of his head, kissing down his hairline. “Yeah, I hope it keeps up.” He looks out through a large window set into the wall, at a stretch of blocks that look infinitely different than it did a year ago. “This was a good thing that we did, right?”

“Yeah, it was.” Bucky rests his forehead on Steve’s, bringing their lips together. He tastes like the sweet tangy flavor of their drinks, and Bucky lets himself take pleasure in the feeling of Steve’s beard against his cheek and how every swipe of his tongue seems to make him melt further into the body he’s mapping out with the tips of his fingers.

Bucky makes a sound at the back of his throat when he feels Steve harden against his thigh, but neither of them pay it any mind. Instead, Steve slows them down into tapering kisses that end with him placing a final peck on his cheekbone. “Let’s stay here a little longer,” Steve whispers into his skin, and Bucky obliges.

It’s sometimes too easy to get their jobs over with and move onto yet the next thing. For tonight, they can sit back and watch a piece of the life they had a hand in helping make come true. Bucky hopes Steve gets more of these moments to savor, and that he’ll be there with him every time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts? Those are always cool.
> 
> Merry Christmas to all, and to all- Well, _not_ good night quite yet because, you guessed it! **I finished up another installment, so[ _Something in the Water_](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28309221) is now up for you to read!**


End file.
